


The Talk [unedited]

by Jammy



Category: Neopets
Genre: M/M, im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 15:39:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11854602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jammy/pseuds/Jammy
Summary: Oliver has something really important to tell Shimon. They've been very good friends--and maybe a little more--for a long while already, so it shouldn't be this hard to talk to him right?Well, let's just say that this sort of topic doesn't really come up with normal 'friends'.Ambroise and Shimon belong to werelupwoods!





	The Talk [unedited]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [werelupewoods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werelupewoods/gifts), [t3f3r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/t3f3r/gifts).



> [[Autumn if you're reading this: I blame you]] 
> 
> I started working on this really guilty pleasure thing a day or two ago, I really didn't have the guts to tell anyone about it--let alone post the damn thing--but when I shared with Em and my witch-friend Autumn they wanted to see more of it. Autumn went as far as telling me: "there's no shame in writing self indulgent things" and, well, aight, I'm game. 
> 
> DISCLAIMERS!!!!- Shimon and Ambroise belongs to my wonderful and talented girlfriend Em, [Amboise is mentioned but he doesn't make an appearance, sorry!] and I absolutely apologize if he's ooc. Secondly, this is pretty close to canon imho. Oliver loves children, [in case you didn't see in that last story I wrote with him and Kanrik] and his impulses are pretty bad. In the 'fusion are kids' AU he and Shimon have a fusion baby named Viv/Vivien. But in the 'canon' world Oliver for _sure_ has a son who was born in 'Twisted Grove', though I haven't given him a name yet. 
> 
> This is exploring the 'what happens in near canon' scenario. 
> 
> Anyways, sorry about the ooc-ness, and sorry about the ending lmao. Oh! This is also sort of a teaser preview for a story/rp thing I was doing with my sister T3f3r! So yeah, here's wonderwall.

“I’m having a child.”

 

The usual bustle of Ambroise’s Inn, The Golden Gallion, became deathly still once after Oliver made the statement. The young Christmas Gelert didn’t really look like himself right now, he looked anxious, he was bundled up with two or so coats over his usual hunter’s attire even though the leaves on the trees outside had just began to fall a few days ago. Oliver’s hands were fumbling with the tea cup in front of him on it’s saucer, his eyes jumping from Shimon to the extremely detailed wallpaper besides their table once every couple minutes. Shimon sat across from him, leaning against the table and a drink in one hand but he was shocked—maybe a little too shocked to speak—he was finally able to shut his mouth and feel the stunned dryness far after the sentence was said. Though, it seems that when Shimon finally began to move—move away the thick chestnut colored curls that blocked his golden eye, so he can observe Oliver a little more throughly—the whole world began to go to it’s usual movements as well. Some patrons began to talk a little louder about their day, the bard at the other side of the tavern began to play another traditional song, his breathing was coming back to his lungs again.

 

Maybe a little too quickened, but coming back nonetheless.

 

“Congratulations.” Shimon manages to say smoothly, he tilts his head off to the side so his hair can fall back to covering his eye. He’s honestly perplexed right now, or maybe even horrified. Did that mean Oliver had another--? No. No, no maybe he had done the same mistake as his father Cathal. During one of his troubled times he accidentally blew off some steam with a nice, good looking young lady and now they were both coming too with the consequences of their actions. please tell him that’s all it was. Sure, Oliver has told him about some old flings and relationships in the past but he never really _**spoke**_ about them, just mentioned them in memories they shared together, hopefully none of them decided to come back into his life and…“Who--” Shimon forces a chuckle to cover up the nervous cracking in his voice. “--Who’s the lucky lady?”

 

“There is no lucky lady.” Oliver begins, his tone was slowly returning back to normal it seems, almost as if his confidence was coming back around as well. Oliver looked down at the whiskey that was in Shimon’s hand and watched as the older hunter lifted the thick glass to his lip to drink. “ _ **I’m**_ the one having the child, Shi.” And then Shimon chokes on his drink. He’s coughing almost violently into a closed fist and desperately grab at the wooden table’s edge to keep himself up. Oliver bites his lower lip in a desperate attempt to keep himself quiet, forbidding himself to let out a slip of a laugh though it was incredibly hard not to. It wasn’t often that Shimon is taken off guard like that, and it sure as hell wasn’t common to see him react like this either. Finally, with the older Gelert’s cough subsiding, Oliver attempts to clear his throat as if to sound a little more stern. “So, um, yes, I’m expectant.” _smooth, Ollie. Real smooth._

 

“You’re—nooo, no, no.” Shimon clumsily sets his glass down, though before he’s just trying to think: How in the living hell? Okay, sure, he and Oliver had attempt to a _few_ things in the past. They had kissed a couple of times and on a few occasions they had tried to be a little more ‘intimate’ together. By that, things were beginning to look passionate when Shimon would get a little too flustered to continue, but it wasn’t all too bad—somehow, Oliver would pretend like as if he just wasn’t shoved off the bed because he had attempted to use some channeling magic as foreplay when they had made out. Or when Shimon just panics and asks Oliver to stop, the young hunter wouldn’t make any fuss at all. He would instead lie on his side, gently caressing Shimon’s arm or twirling his fingers in the curl of his tail and talk about sheer nothingness, about hunts, about monsters, about anything to help him calm down—the next thing he knows the two of them are cuddling together, still naked mostly, but that’s the thing: _**naked**_. He’s seen that Oliver’s biology looked—well, yeah, _looked_ —male. A large part of him wants to ask but at the same time he doesn’t….you know what? Fuck it. “How?”

 

“How?” Oliver asks with an inquisitive tone, it meant that he was pretending he was just not trying to read Shimon’s features and decipher what was on the older hunter’s mind. Hearing ‘how’ wasn’t a question that Oliver was expecting, actually he’s pleasantly surprised Shimon didn’t ask ‘who’. “How what?”

 

“How the hell are you--?” wow, oh wow for some reason the rest was a little too foreign to say. As he was coming to the word it felt as though it had just manifest into his mouth and sat there, uncomfortably. Shimon attempts to repeat the question—or finish the rest of it at least—but again the words begin to take shape and feel angular in his mouth, instead of speaking the sarcastically articulate self he just feels the overwhelming urge to spit. He’s never had problems with saying words like this before...well, sometimes it was hard for him to come up with conversations or things to say, then he would stammer or get silent but this was the very first time that words became curt on his tongue. He doesn’t want to say it’s because this was about Oliver, but…not that he’s upset or disgusted about this. Absolutely not. He’s just…

 

Well what is he feeling?

 

Oliver can see the turmoil in Shimon’s face and the way that he is battling himself to finish the rest of the sentence. It begins to scare him a little. Well, ok not a little, a _**lot**_. Shimon was a man that would never shut up when it came to conversations, though sometimes he would be taken aback and stammer he could carry on with a sentence in a matter of seconds. Sometimes Oliver was even impressed with his improv skills, and then the other times he would just be embarrassed, but rarely. If Shimon’s peculiar way of using words didn’t surprise him then it would always humor him. Oliver swallows the lump in his throat, Shimon didn’t seem angry, he’s seen the older hunter when he’s mad. Despite the panicking feeling tightening around his throat, he continues.

 

“I….” Oliver stops himself before he can even began, trying to pinpoint where he should begin, and finally he brings the tea up to his lips to drink. “I was out hunting three weeks ago, I helped this woman who’s shop was on the verge of being destroyed by some local thugs. When I finally got rid of them she showed me the wares in her shop, insisting over and over that I can have anything I wanted for payment. Against my pestering of ‘noble chivalry’ and whatnot I found myself looking upon her shelves and then I saw that she was carrying a conception potion.” he pauses. “My initial intent was to sell it off, that stuff is worth _millions_ , Shi. But...after three weeks of seeing that glowing purple bottle on my shelf, almost taunting me, I just felt like it was going to waste just sitting there--”

 

“It’s blue.” Shimon finally comments, chin in hand. Oliver stops almost immediately, lifting his gaze up from his tea to throw an accusing glance across the table.

 

“It’s _purple_ \--”

 

“It’s _blue_ , dear. Even _**I**_ know that.” Shimon states leaning forward just a little to rest his arms against the tabletop then cross his ankles together comfortably, a maniacal grin slowly crawling onto his face, “The conception potion is _**blue**_ , the Infertility Elixir is _**green**_ —I hope for your sake that it wasn’t actually green, love--”

 

“If I didn’t just drink the damn thing I’d pull it out of my satchel right now and prove you wrong, Shimon Stoneark.” Oliver snaps though the threat meant absolutely nothing as Shimon laughs that borderline psychotic sounding thunder. Unfortunately the laugh is contagious for Oliver and though he’s still forbidding himself to laugh to keep this discussion ‘serious’ it was hard for him to keep a small smile from his muzzle. He lets out a long droned groan in aggravation, allowing himself to rest his elbow on the table so he can lean into his hand and pinch the space in between of his eyes for a momentary silence. “I won’t go arguing with you, I had already talked to my cousin Kanrik and whatever the _fucking_ color is, it worked. I’m expectant.”

 

Shimon’s laughs finally calmed down now, the older hunter had a small grin on his face in place of the laughter but honestly the air in between them was feeling better now, now it doesn’t feel so...hostile. If that was a good word to describe it. It doesn’t feel like they need to tiptoe and choose their words carefully anymore. Maybe because, yes, Oliver has conceived but that didn’t change anything else, he didn’t really change—from what’s been proven by their ‘it’s blue-it’s purple’ argument—they can be themselves. But right now curiosity is finally replacing the fear and the shock from earlier, at least just little bit.

 

“Are you saying you threw away the bottle the potion was in?”

 

“Why does that matter right now?” Oliver asks with a puzzled expression on his face, though Shimon continued to sit quietly, patiently, with that very toothy grin on his muzzle that Oliver’s come to love, somehow. The young Christmas Gelert huffs and looks away and admire the music coming from the bard, but it meant nothing as the small smile is still present on his lips and after a few moments the silence became almost too much to bare. “Nnnno. No, I still have the bottle on my shelf.”

 

“Is it glass?”

 

“It is. Glass in the shape of a flower bud, it also has metal petals folded on the bottom to keep it standing, covered in gilded gold of course.”

 

“That sounds _pretentiously_ expensive and symbolic, dear. You should’ve sold it off.” Shimon chuckles, again lifting the warm glass of whiskey to his lips to drink, but really his mind is racing a hundred uni-hoves a minute and it’s not really easy to jump and stay on one thought. Oliver was having a baby. This was huge, not only for the young hunter but for them…both of them. Shimon was beginning to question the very thing he’s been avoiding for the longest time now, he’s refused to say it, he’s refused to even think of that as an option but now…now he can’t even _think_. Were they a couple? Were they together? He has his share of pet names for everyone but he had felt something different in his chest when Oliver began to call him ‘dear’, and ‘ _s_ _chnucki_ ’. They have laid in bed together for hours just talking or just simply _being_ together, to listen to the other one breathe and feel their arms wrapped around the other. They have been through so much together, they’ve done so much together.

 

Maybe the idea of just questioning what relationship they fall on was the very thing scaring him. No….no it was that and the idea that he might lose…

 

“Couldn’t you have just—settled on getting a _plant_ or something?” the grin on his face is teasing but he turns his head away from Oliver before he can even see a reaction. “They’re easier to care for and you wouldn’t have to worry about the _law_ if you throw it out a window ‘cause it pissed you off.”

 

“But Shi--” Oliver gasps, putting a hand over his heart in a mock surprise. “--if I was to get a plant now then I would have to take care of a child _**and**_ a plant at the same time. I can’t handle taking on so much responsibility.” though Shimon’s reaction was also acted, Oliver finally laughed when his friend just buried his face into his hands in a pretend exasperation. His laughter only doubles when he can barely hear the muffled groan from his friend’s hands.

 

“I meant _**before**_ you did any of this, _pridurok_.”

 

Oliver offers another smaller laugh though he can’t bring himself to saying anything. He was thinking too much about, well, about everything. It’s debatable to say that he has good judgment, but when it comes to his impulse he’s not really the best at controlling it, obviously. On one hand he’s absolutely thrilled to be doing this, he’s wanted children for so long and—frankly—he hasn’t found anyone to settle down with that shared the same dreams as him, so he decided to just carry it on himself. Why the fuck not? But it was only after he had found out, after his cousin Kanrik confirmed the pregnancy, and after he had began to plan out just where he was going to be putting a nursery when it occurred to him: He would have to leave his line of work momentarily, he would have to stay away from Newlyn—possibly even Haunted woods, just to be safe—and that meant he had to tell Shimon about his whereabouts. He was unsure where this discussion was going to lead and he’s honestly so scared about it now, he should’ve waited to take the potion to have a talk Shimon more about this, without feeling rushed.

 

Oh, now he was feeling sick.

 

Goddamit kid.

 

Oliver pours himself another serving of tea, about to cast some magic so that he can warm it up again but he stops in mid-snap-of-his-fingers when he remembers: No magic. Sure, he can use little petty spells here and there but the energy to cast them will deplete far faster and far more than it’s usual casts. Or, he might be as ‘lucky’ as his mother was when she was pregnant with him, the magic will even hurt him if he attempts to use it. Just for curiosity’s sake—and for the sake of warming up his tea—he wanted to try it but no, no he was so early into the pregnancy and he can’t risk anything. It’s bad enough he’s so stressed at having his fucking conversation, he would hate to feel whatever it was like if something bad came to his child that was easily preventable. He drops his hand with defeat and takes a small slow of a sip from the ice cold liquid, shuddering just the slightest and unable to hide the disgust on his face. Shimon recognizes the look and at first he’s puzzled, Oliver’s complained constantly that he can’t drink cold tea, that’s why he would use a small spell to warm up the kettle or his cup.

 

Wait, he can’t...use magic when he’s like this?

 

It was an alien thought: Oliver not using magic. He’s seen the young hunter use countless spells and castings from everyday chores down to the tiniest tasks, like pushing a chair in as he’s about, to sit at a table to light candles in a room or snuffing them out before they go to sleep, and even to cooking and cleaning. Oliver was...willing to sacrifice his normal life style to bare this child. That’s…quite admirable. No, that was love.

 

Shimon leans a little more over the table so he can reach enough with his finger tips to deliver a quick zap of some dark magic at the cup’s base to warm it up. Oliver lifts the drink to his lips, breathes in the light steam coming from his tea and sighs out a sincere thank you to Shimon. The talk in between them becomes quiet. Shimon is still trying to gather the racing thoughts in his mind as he gently taps his fingertips against his drink’s rim, and Oliver is still trying to remain calm during all of this while staring into the pale liquid in his cup, they’re both trying to avoid one simple topic though. But Oliver isn’t good with impulse, especially when he wants answers.

 

“ _Liebling_?” Shimon immediately looks up, as if knowing the pet name Oliver uses was his alone. The young Christmas Gelert is looking nervous again, though a small sincere smile is still on his lips. “You know that I love you.” instead of commenting his usual ‘and I still can’t believe it’ remark, Shimon remains silent with that small crooked grin on his face, closely listening. “My love for you won’t ever change.” he continues slowly, looking down at his tea to swirl the contents around slowly. “No matter...no matter what your thoughts on this are, and, no matter what happens I just want you to know that no matter what, you were one of my greatest friends.”

 

“Are you worried something is going to happen?” Shimon finally asks taking Oliver by surprise, he’s wondering if he was so scared because… “That something is--” he stops, this wasn’t a good topic to bring up with an expecting parent. “--that something might happen in the pregnancy? Or the birth? I mean, you are...y’know, _dead_.”

 

“No. No that’s not it.”Oliver takes another sip of the warm tea to enjoy it’s flavor and relieved that he wasn’t feeling that much sick anymore. Ambroise makes the best tea after all, well, he makes the best _everything_ to be honest. Not once has Oliver ate or drank something from Ambroise’s place and find it disgusting or borderline mediocre. And he wouldn’t be embarrassed to say that he’s been craving the tea and cakes from here for almost the last month, because nowhere else in all of Neopia can he find Rosepetal Tea and iced lemon cake made the same way Ambroise makes it. Oliver manages to laugh a little more, “My father’s had three children after his death--”

 

“Now that’s fucking impressive, he must’ve been quite popular at the graveyard.”

 

“Oh my _**gods**_ , just fuckin’ listen!” he laughs manages to give Shimon a ghost of a shove though it did absolutely nothing but make the pale Gelert laugh along with him. “My father was able to have three children, me being one of them, I wasn’t like...born dead or anything like that, none of the children were. And my mother said that her pregnancy was normal, aside from the unhealthy amount of spiced cakes she ended up eating during that time but I think that’s a family thing, because Nicko claimed he couldn’t stop eating pound cake when he was expecting my younger sister.”

 

“Aha, so cake is what we need to set everything right it seems.” Shimon smiles a little larger but it fades, just the slightest bit, when he sees the horror suddenly appear on Oliver’s face. It can’t be that he’s overwhelmed with sickness if he hasn’t gotten up to run outside, nor did he reach to grab whatever limb or bodypart was beginning to ail him if he was in pain. Shimon tilts his head. “Ollie?”

 

“ _ **Goddamit**_.” Oliver spits looking off to the side, he crosses his arms and sinks down into his seat. Crossing his legs over the other as he contemplates a little further, then he huffs out in annoyance, “Lemon cake.” It took a moment for Shimon to think about what it was his hunting partner’s talking about until he realizes: lemon cake, the frosted lemon cake Ambroise sells at his inn. Now that he’s mentioned it, just before they began to talk about all of this he did have three small loaves of the cake.

 

“You know,” Shimon begins with a larger teasing grin. “the servings for those cakes are for three people each loaf.”

 

“I’m eating for two, Shi.” Oliver snapped back with an equally playful grin, “So technically I can still order another plate and even it out.”

 

“ _Can_ , but _shouldn’t_ , dear. I hope for your sake that kid of yours learns about something called ‘moderation’.” Shimon chuckles and Oliver laughs with him. It seems like the two of them are finally starting to be a little more open about this but, well, Shimon can still see the worry on his friend’s brow and he can just feel it in the air that Oliver wants to tell him something. It’s a little painful, he thinks that out of anyone Oliver should know that he can tell him whatever was on his mind, especially after all that they have been through. Shimon twirls the thick glass around in continuous circles on top of the wooden table face, tossing around the thoughts in his head just a little more before sighing in defeat, he’s not one for _complete_ confrontation but... “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

 

“I know.” Oliver whispers taking the very last sip of his tea with a small sigh, he folds his hands together so he can resist the urge to grab Shimon’s hands, he’s still just a little afraid of what will come from his talk. “I’m just…I was just worried about losing you.” Oliver finally admits, he looks down at his hands so that he can press his fingertips together and tap against them gently, “Look, I…I love what we’re in together right now and I would love to go further with you, of course. I just realized though that maybe I should’ve talked to you about it first before I took the potion.”

 

“ _Maybe_?” Shimon drones tilting his head to the other side so that his hair can fall from covering his eye, “ _Maybe_? My, what a very peculiar word choice.” The asshole doesn’t mean anything by it than just to be sarcastic….and telling the truth, Oliver knows, so he doesn’t feel compelled to hide the reaction of rolling his eyes at the older hunter’s almost nasal remark.

 

“Ok, ok, yes, I _should’ve_ talked to you about all this first. Since—I will admit—I believe that we are the ones in a relationship together, this should have been something that we talk about as a couple.” finally, one of them says it. The slightly older Gelert brings his gaze down to his drink again, and uses his callused fingers to spin the glass slowly in between his grasp. So, they _are_ both in a relationship. They _are_ both together. They _are_ a couple. It was refreshing to hear it though, they have the air all cleared up and they can maybe even take it a step forward and start planning different things together as a couple.

 

“To be clear, I’m not mad or anything if that’s what you’re wondering.” Shimon begins tilting his glass from side to side so he can see the amber colored liquid splash back and forth in the dimmed candle light, “I’m just surprised, I never knew you were willing to take on such a large responsibility like this.” he pauses to go through his thoughts and shrugs his shoulders before taking another drink, “You spoke before about having children, briefly, but I didn’t think you’d go this far as to ‘impregnating’ yourself.”

 

“So, you don’t mind then?” Oliver asks, a little hopeful. Shimon shrugs his heavy shoulders.

 

“ _N_ _e znayu_. This is all very new to me, at least you had almost a month to think over all of this. But as I said, I’m not angry, I guess I’m just waiting for something so it can sink in.”

 

“Fair enough.” the younger hunter sighs with relief, at least he knows that Shimon is still here with him. He had thought of the worst when it came to this discussion, being that Shimon would just get up and walk out or tell him to never see him ever again or anything among that line. No, he’s just glad he is still here sitting with his friend, his _Liebling_. Well, speaking of: there was another thing on Oliver’s mind... “Obviously I can’t hunt in the meantime, and I was planning on staying at my father’s estates but I really can’t do that either. The further I am from Haunted Woods and Newlyn the better and safer for us.” Oliver smiles a little more when Shimon nods his head with an agreeable hum, “I heard there was a family mansion from Cathal’s side over in Northern Brightvale, maybe we can go look at it together, you know, stay there for a few nights and see how it is.”

 

“You want me to go with you?” well that was a surprise, sure Shimon’s visited Oliver’s fathers’ mansion over in Krawk Island—which that in itself was one interestingly enjoyable trip—but now we’re talking about the Callahan family mansion. Not only Cathal was allowed inside, cousins, aunts, uncles and whoever the hell was in the family can go, it is a huge honor to be invited by a family member to go inside but…. “Am I even allowed on the property? I’m not one of the Callahan family.”

 

“Well.” Oliver whispers looking down in a short pause, only to return his gaze back up to look at his friend in the eye. “ _I_ think you are, right now at least. Even dad and Nicko have seen you as family of sorts.” Shimon doesn’t say anything at first, what was there to say? Well, other than that he can’t believe that Cathal and Nickolas were so kind enough to even consider him family...actually, no, it makes sense. Oliver is a compassionate man, he’s definitely inherited that from his father, it must be a Callahan thing. Being that Oliver considers them to be a couple though, that makes sense as well--

 

wait a fucking minute.

 

“Wait, wait, wait—wait, hold on, I have to ask, dear.” Shimon quickly stammers before he even had the chance of drinking the rest of his liquor, up at this point Oliver isn’t worried about anything else because they had gotten some of the harder topics over and done with. With a smug dung eating grin he coos out a ‘yes, _Liebling_?’. “Does—does that mean I’m going to be a _**father**_ or something?”

 

“Hm.” the young Christmas Gelert taps his fingertips to his chin in a quick contemplation, then shrugs with a nod as he doesn’t recognize the absolute loss of whatever color was left in his partner’s face disappearing. “I mean, if you want to be so then yeah. I guess you are.”

 

The normal near-midnight bustle of The Golden Gallion—it’s muttering patrons, the bard sharing their tales with song and instruments, the bartender effortlessly cleaning and serving the glasses at the counter—were all silenced once again when a crash from a dropped glass was heard, followed by a quick scramble of a young Christmas Gelert desperately trying to help the other pale colored Gelert on the floor regain consciousness.

 

Whatever it was that Shimon was ‘waiting for’, well, found him first. And then it hit him like a rampaging hay cart flying down a steep hill.


End file.
